


Kidnapped by Francis

by latethoughts



Category: Deadpool - Fandom, Marvel
Genre: Existentialism, F/M, Kidnapping, Oneshot, Twoshot, mention of dying, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 03:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18682957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latethoughts/pseuds/latethoughts
Summary: Thinking you were Vanessa, Ajax kidnaps you to interrogate.When he finds out you're not, you convince him to give you one last proper conversation.





	Kidnapped by Francis

Being taken was just as scary as you thought it would be. It was late at night and you had just finished your shift at Sister Margaret's. Weasel had been away again so you had to cover for him.  
A good looking British man had come in, his cheekbones looked like they were carved by God himself. He only entered for a moment, lingered by the door and bumped into you then left. Nothing you weren't used to, men always had a reason to grab your ass but this one was different, he actually apologised. At the end of the night when you took the bins out you were grabbed by the waist and your mouth was covered by a hand to muffle your screams.

On instinct, you lifted your leg to stomp on whoever grabbed you but they didn't flinch, nor did they release their hand when you chomped down on their finger. You panicked, screamed and wriggled when you realised that this person wasn't normal.

"It's alright, love," the British man told you, "you can blame Wilson for this"

Who's Wilson? That's something you would never find out, or at least you thought. You've been in a dark wet concrete room for the past...12 hours? The only bit of light you saw was through a crack below a door. All perception of time has left you.

The door opened for the first time in days...not really, probably only a few hours. It was the handsome Brit from the bar, HE kidnapped you?

"Hello, Mrs. Wilson to be," he began, Who the fuck? Your eyes widened and tried talking but you couldn't. He turned on the overhead light and saw that the room was empty except for the chair that you were on. You were tied to it by ropes and you had duct tape over your mouth. There was also something big in your mouth which stopped you from making any noise. What was it?

"My name is Ajax," what? The cleaning product? "And although it's not really my place to say why you're here..." you kept trying to say something but you were too muffled. He didn't finish his sentence, instead rolling his eyes at you interrupting him. He stripped off the duct tape and you spat out whatever was in your mouth, oh my god it was a sock! Gross.  
"Stop spitting! Why are you spitting?!" He stepped back.

"You put a sock in my mouth!"

"Look Vanessa, Wade-"

"Who the hell is Vanessa and Wade?!" Your voice broke a bit. Silence filled the air.

"Wade...Wilson" he gave you a confused look. You struggled against your rope.

"I don't know who that is. I work at Sister Margs as a casual bartender, you've got the wrong person!" The British man closed his eyes and clasped his hands on his face. Then he started laughing. You smiled and played along, hoping he'd let you go.

"I am so silly" he took his hands away.

"No..harm done" you spoke slowly.

"I just feel like a complete idiot and I really am sorry but you will have to die" he reached into his back pocket and presented a very sharp dagger.

"Woah, can I say one thing first!?" You stalled. He stopped and let you talk, "um.." you breathed, thinking, "you um, have sauce or something on your face" you told him, he must have had a burger or burrito before coming in because it looked white, maybe garlic or aioli?

Ajax wiped his face and smiled, "good last words" he got closer again.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!" You told him again and he stepped back, "can I just have one conversation-one proper conversation before my death that doesn't involve me pouring tequila?" He didn't respond, he put his knife back in a holster behind him and left the room. You caught your breath back for a second, he came back straight away with a different chair and put it on the ground. He sat on it but was facing the back of the chair and leaned his hands and head on the top. He sucked in one of his cheeks and went to speak.

"What do you want to talk about?" He asked.

"What changed your mind about killing me?" You were still on high alert just in case he had a gun, but after a few seconds you had calmed down a bit.

"I don't know, I guess I'm not in a killing mood. Too disappointed in myself to realise I have the wrong girl" he looked down, "and you're not bad to look at" you gulped and felt that strange feeling rush to your cheek, that feeling to smile.

You cleared your throat along with your thoughts of crude nature, "um, so who is Wade Wilson? It sounds like a made up secret identity for a superhero"

"He's uh," he paused and raised an eyebrow, "he's just a guy that's trying to kill me, that I need to kill first"

"It's my last conversation, would you care to elaborate?" You asked, buying your time. But for what? Everyone probably thinks that you're asleep at home.   
Ajax continued with the conversation, you were transfixed by his accent. He told you about his experiments, all the mutants, the lengths at which people had to go through to become almost invincible, you could tell he was telling the truth.

"So...what do you think of death?" I asked, running out of ideas.  
He shook his head, as if to say 'that's a strange topic' but remembered what he said he'd do to me after this conversation. I saw him gulp and break eye contact.

"I think-no, I know death is inevitable and I guess it's life that I don't care for"

"I guess sociopaths wouldn't care for the living very much" you commented then shook your head, thinking that the conversation would end soon. "Um, to be completely honest with you. I think death can be poetic. In the right circumstances, I mean. Some die in gruesome ways and boring ways. Some die happily or in fear...either way, I know I'll be fine when I'm dead. I mean it won't be pretty, someone will probably find my body in a dumpster or a ditch, or burned to a crisp, but I know I'll be at rest. Although I don't know what life is all about, I think that existing is just...just that. Why does there have to be meaning? Humans are so complex yet so stupid. I lived being a generous, healthy person and longer than some others, that's good enough for me. I'm not afraid," there was a long pause and a tear dropped from your left eye, "I'm ready" you took a deep breath.

The British man in front of you kept a stern face and looked down. Then he shook his head, "no" he grunted.

"Excuse me?"

"No, I like my..., victims, to be scared. Scared of dying, scared of me. At first, you were and everything was fine but I had a few hours to kill and you're young, I thought I'd humour you. Nah," he got up and left the room.

"What the shit?" You grunted.

 


End file.
